Anthony DeCosmo - Disintegration

Trevor’s nose found an odor hinting of sewage issues. Just a hint.

Jon spoke confidently of their situation, ignoring the glare from his wife as he droned on.

"I’ve got another case of MREs, and our well is working good. I’ve got two more clips for my rifle and plenty of shells for the. 357." He waved a hand in the air as if dismissing Armageddon as a mild inconvenience. "We can hold out indefinitely. Where are you staying?"

Trevor licked his lips.

"I found a little place at Harveys Lake. Kind of cozy. You might like it. Why don’t you come with me and check it out?"

Trevor knew- he knew — Jon would hear none of it.

"Dick, maybe you should just stay here."

"Tell you what. Why don’t the two of you come back and help me load up my junk and bring it here. I have some odds and ends that might be useful."

Lori jumped before her husband could decline the suggestion.

"That sounds great."

Jon shrugged, "Whatever you say, Dick."

– "Wow," Jon glanced around the cabin. "Nice RV. Where’d you get it?"

"I found it," Trevor admitted.

They bounced and swayed on the country roads. Rain still splashed against the windshield, but the drizzle slowed.

"What about these dogs, Rich?" Lori asked as the canines laid quietly to the rear.

Lori understood what her husband had yet to comprehend. Oh, she did not know the whole story but she understood that the Richard Stone behind the wheel of the motor home differed from the Richard Stone who, in the old days, would acquiesce to her husband’s aggressive demeanor. She knew the old Richard probably would not have survived the Apocalypse.

Something had changed; a paradigm shift. Her husband simply did not see it yet.

Trevor answered, "Oh, there were three big kennels within a couple miles of this place I’m staying at. They all came from those kennels."

The Winnebago eased around the Harveys Lake perimeter road.

Stone asked a question of his own, "So you say your unit got over run?"

Jon grew as solemn as Jon ever gets.

"Yeah. We were hit by, like, a horde of some weird looking things."

Trevor watched the road but he listened carefully.

"Man, I held my ground as long as I could," a nervous laugh. "But it was pretty bad. The command center got destroyed, ammunition ran low; I must have killed a dozen of the things."

"I see."

"So, anyway, I managed to get free. I think everyone else was dead. I grabbed a couple crates of supplies from the depot and threw them in the Explorer."

"Must’ve been quite a trip back," Trevor said.

"Yep. Saw all sorts of weird shit. Nothing I couldn’t handle, though."

Lori made a fake-choking noise and said, "I’m sick of MREs. I didn’t join the army, you know?"

Jon changed the subject.

"So Dick, I got some ideas on things we need to be doing. You stick with me and I’ll get us through this okay."

"That’s my hero," Lori chimed in light heartily even as she sensed the brick wall her husband raced toward.

Lori had known Richard ‘Dick’ Stone nearly her entire life. The man in the driver’s seat of the RV resembled Dick Stone and sounded like Dick Stone. Yet she knew-instinctively knew-he had become something more.

At the same time, she loved her husband dearly, no matter how often he annoyed her. His dominating personality helped keep her headstrong ways in check. In a sense, they were the only two people in the world who could put up with the other.

Sometimes they fought and screamed and she even threw a dish at him once. However, he had never hit her or pushed her around, despite how high he towered above her. She had a sharp enough wit to put him in his place and he was smart enough to keep her wit from hurting his ego.

At the same time, if not for him she would have told off one too many bosses or loan agents or friends over the years. He could make her tone it down a notch…sometimes.

The RV rounded a bend, drove along the iron fence, and swung up the driveway after the gate rolled open.

Lori gasped, "Geez, some place."

Jon said nothing.

The motor home parked next to the mansion. Trevor led the group out, including the K9s. Lori heard Richard tell one of the Elkhounds, "Assembly" before it galloped away.

"Wow, um," Jon stuttered as his eyes darted from sight to sight including the blond girl on the porch peering at the new arrivals from behind a thick pillar.

Trevor said, "I have a few things to pack up to take over to your place: a couple of Humvees, some dirt bikes, several thousand gallons of fuel, an armory, tons of fresh, frozen, and preserved food; oh, and we might want to take the helipad in case we come across any choppers."

Lori smiled. No, she smirked at her friend.

Dozens of K9s assembled on the lawn in rows by breed. Dozens.

Trevor grew deadly serious.

"Your army is gone."

Jon, his jaw unhinged, gaped at the dogs organized as smartly as U.S. Marines at a Memorial Day parade.

"This is my army."

Trevor pointed at the Rotties.

"Heavy infantry."

He waved a hand toward the Elkhounds.

"Reconnaissance."

Then toward the Dobermans.

"Military police."

"I–I…" Jon stammered. "Wow."

"This is how it is. We were friends but that was the past. Things have changed. A lot. More than you realize. I have a job to do. You can be a part of that. I want you to be a part of that. I need people like you. But there are two things I’m going to ask of you."

Lori spoke because Jon could not manage a coherent word.

"What two things?"

"First, I need to know you’ll follow me. That’s not something you’re used to. That’s not how things used to be with us. But that’s how they have to be now. I need to know that you’ll follow me without question, without debate. This is my world now. I’m in charge."

"And the second thing?"

"Never call me ‘Dick’ again."

A week into Jon and Lori's move to the estate, Sheila felt the mansion had grown too crowded and retreated to her room. Each day she sat on her bed with knees curled to her chin, crying to the point that tears seemed scarred into her cheeks.

She held fond memories of the "good old days", those first three days after her rescue. Since then, she endured the sting of rejection and paranoia that Trevor would kick her out.

At first, Lori invited Sheila to work in the garden, organize supplies, play cards, or some other outreach program of the day. Eventually, Lori stopped asking. Sheila did not mind. If she stayed quiet and out of sight, maybe they would forget about her.

The lights in Sheila’s room flickered. She tensed. Those flickers came and went but she feared that one day the lights might go dark permanently. She kept them on all the time, even as sunlight filled her room and despite Trevor's warning to conserve power. Those lights meant a lot to her; a fantasy of civilization.

The lights stopped flickering and remained on. Sheila calmed.

She pried her hands from her knees, opened the top drawer of the side table, and pulled out a notebook and pencil. Sheila sniffled, wiped away another threatening teardrop, and then took aim with the pencil.

– "What do you see?" Jon asked.

Trevor held binoculars to his eyes.

"I see a dead city."

The two stood atop a mountain on the southwestern edge of the Wyoming Valley, a panoramic view before them.

The Susquehanna split the valley in two. Wilkes-Barre lay to the east of the river where several tall, 1930’s vintage bank buildings and the classic but long-deteriorating Hotel Sterling dominated the downtown skyline. Those older structures shared the space around ‘Public Square’ with 1970’s era buildings built with a massive influx of tax dollars following the disastrous '72 flood. Neighborhoods sprouted to the south and north of downtown and reached from the riverbank to the valley's eastern mountain wall.